


Rifatto

by Dovesummer



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Drinking, Established Relationship, M/M, This Is My Beginning, it's bittersweet, references to cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovesummer/pseuds/Dovesummer
Summary: For Hannibal Cre-ate-ive's final fest This Is My BeginningThere had been many nights like this one. They packed the few belongings they were taking but left most of them behind, shedding old identities like shedding skin.  Each time Will felt the pain and rawness that came from losing the protective layer of familiarity; being born again to a new city and a new name.And each time Hannibal was there to soothe his frayed nerves, whispering gentle assurances, steering him deftly through unfamiliar streets and guiding him through the basics of a new language.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 159
Collections: ThisIsMyBeginning





	Rifatto

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always late to the party! I was looking for prompts and found this wonderful group, only to find out this is (most likely) the last fest. All good things must end, I suppose; I'm just sorry I didn't participate earlier. Hopefully you enjoy this.

The fire was dying slowly in the grate, its shrinking logs and cooling embers the truest indication of how long they’d been sitting quietly in front of it. Will regarded Hannibal over his wineglass, watching the play of the fire across the other man’s face. It occurred to him that this was how the world saw Hannibal; the flickers of light illuminating parts of his features, but never his entire face. It was enough to make you believe you were seeing the man, but in reality most of him was still hidden in the shadows. 

That was how the _rest_ of the world saw Hannibal. Will had seen his face in the light and in the dark, clean and bathed in blood. 

There had been many nights like this one. They packed the few belongings they were taking but left most of them behind, shedding old identities like shedding skin. Each time Will felt the pain and rawness that came from losing the protective layer of familiarity; being born again to a new city and a new name. 

And each time Hannibal was there to soothe his frayed nerves, whispering gentle assurances, steering him deftly through unfamiliar streets and guiding him through the basics of a new language. 

This time was particularly hard. They’d never been in one place for this long. They’d tentatively made friends with some neighbors. Will had begun feeding a few of the stray dogs in the area. Hannibal had even suggested taking one in, but, as much as Will wanted that, he always resisted. And now, sitting in front of a dying fire, he was reminded why. 

He spun the wineglass between his fingers, watching the movement of the red liquid in the crystal. 

He was tempted to drop it. 

All their talk of teacups shattering - why not an absurdly expensive wine glass half full of an equally absurdly expensive wine? A wine they were only drinking now because it was the best bottle in their pantry and they would be leaving the others behind? 

Hannibal had called it a special occasion when he opened it, but this was nothing special. It was one more night in a string of similar nights.

Instead of dropping the glass, Will determined to savor the wine. Regardless of the reason for drinking it, it was quite good. Hannibal did have excellent taste. But then he always had. 

Will was deep in thought when he heard the distinctive sound of glass shattering. He looked over to see Hannibal sitting calmly in his armchair, an absurdly expensive wine glass in pieces on the floor next to him.

It was far from the first time Hannibal had picked up on his thoughts and acted on them, but Will was surprised he’d seen fit to break the glass in the end. Hannibal usually left the flats they rented in impeccable condition when they left - almost as if they’d never been there at all, which Will supposed was the point. 

Draining the end of his wine Will grinned and dropped his glass on the floor next to him, watching Hannibal as Hannibal watched him in amusement. 

“Shall we open another bottle?” Hannibal asked. 

“Do we want to get drunk tonight?” Will asked. Hannibal said nothing, but stood and headed toward the kitchen returning with not one but two bottles. He opened them both and held them out for Will to choose. 

Will snorted. “I’m still not the wine critic you are, Hannibal. I remember them both being good. You choose.” 

“I believe the Nebbiolo was more to your taste,” Hannibal said, handing him a bottle. 

“What, no glasses?” Will said. 

Hannibal raised his bottle to his lips and drank. 

“Now there’s something I thought I’d never see,” Will said thoughtfully. “Hannibal Lecter, man of manners, drinking wine straight from the bottle.” He took a swig of his own wine, exaggeratedly wiping his lips on the back of his hand and grinning wildly. He already felt warm from the first two glasses, despite how slowly he’d drunk them. 

Taking another, slower sip he thought idly that Hannibal was right, the Nebbiolo was more to his taste than the Petite Verdot would have been. 

Hannibal had seated himself on the floor, closer to the fire, and Will moved from his chair to join him. He settled himself on the floor, allowing their knees to touch as they sat cross-legged next to each other. Hannibal reached over and squeezed Will’s hand gently, but did not hold it. 

“Leaving is always hard from me,” Will said, deliberately not looking at the other man. By rights leaving should be easy for him, given the number of times he’d left places and things behind in his life, but it was not. The irony that he had willingly chosen a life that required him to move and leave things, people, and places behind over and over again was not lost on him. Yet it was a decision he would make again without regret. 

Knowing he would do it again did nothing to quell the melancholy he was feeling. 

“I know,” Hannibal said. He was quiet for several moments. “I didn’t tell you why we needed to leave this time.” 

“No,” Will said, “you told me to pack. Then you opened our most expensive bottle of wine, and told me it was a ‘special occasion.’”

“It is,” Hannibal said. “You’re wife had you declared legally dead. It went through today.” He kept most - but not all - of the disdain out of his voice when he said the word _wife_. No one else would have noticed, but Will’s lips twitched in a smile. Five years was a long time. The fire of Hannibal’s jealousy died more slowly than the fire in front of them. 

“How did she manage that?” Will wondered. 

“A declaration of death only requires that there is no evidence that you are alive,” Hannibal “Your financial accounts have remained untouched and there have been no sightings of us.”

“No substantiated sightings,” Will corrected, rolling his eyes. He knew Hannibal was well aware he hadn’t been referencing the legal requirements of death in absentia. “I can’t imagine Jack was pleased. He won’t give up so easily.”

Hannibal’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. “No doubt he was not. But the FBI never declared you a fugitive, only a person of interest. Her lawyer successfully argued that she should be allowed to declare you dead and collect on your life insurance.”

“Good for Molly,” Will said, softly. “But what does that have to do with us leaving?”

“It’s difficult to justify searching for a dead man,” Hannibal said.

Will made an irritated noise. “So why are we leaving? If you think we’re safe, why not stay here? We’re happy here.”

“We’re never entirely safe,” Hannibal said. “But I’m selfish. There is a city I have longed to show you properly, but have until now avoided.”

“So we’re going to Florence,” Will said. 

“Not quite,” Hannibal said. “You’re right about Jack. I purchased a property in Siena. It has the advantage of being near enough that the city is an easy trip without being Florence itself.”

Purchased. Not rented, Will noted. And somehow Hannibal had managed to do that today. Resourceful as always.

He should be more irritated than he was. He probably would be in the morning, but the wine had made him fuzzy. And he was perhaps too used to Hannibal at this point, more able to recognize but similarly more inured to his subtle manipulations. Hannibal didn’t operate they way other people did and never would - he was surprising Will. This was a gift.

“You’re a magnificent bastard, Hannibal,” he said. “You could have told me.” He glanced at the ring on his finger. “Will our new identities also be married?” 

“They don’t have to be,” Hannibal answered neutrally. “If you would rather they weren’t.”

“I think you like everyone to know you’ve laid claim to me,” Will said, teasing.

“Hmm,” Hannibal hummed in response. “And I suspect you feel the same.” 

“Yes,” Will said firmly. He drank from the bottle again, noting it was more than half gone, which explained the pressure in his head. Setting it down, he stretched his arms behind him to lean back on his hands, only realizing when he felt the sting in his palm how close he was to the broken glass. Lifting his hand he noted the shard stuck in his pointer finger and two in his palm. He pulled them out, tossing them into the fire, and watched with detached interest as the blood welled up in the wounds, his finger pulsing slightly. 

“Are you ok?” Hannibal asked. Will held up his bloody hand. Hannibal took it, holding Will’s finger over his wine bottle and squeezing. A few drops of blood fell into the bottle and Hannibal swirled it before taking a sip.

“Blood and wine,” Will said. “It seems like a fitting metaphor for our relationship.” 

Hannibal smiled, placing his mouth over Will’s finger and sucking. 

“I suppose a part of you will always want to consume me,” Will said. 

“I consume you daily,” Hannibal said. His heated gaze pulled an answering flush to Will’s cheeks.

Will pressed his hand to Hannibal’s chest, leaving the bloody stain of his palm on the crisp white linen of the shirt. 

“Will,” Hannibal said, “I was planning to take this shirt when we left.” 

“Please,” Will said, huffing a laugh. “You’ll buy yourself an entirely new wardrobe as soon as we arrive.”

Rolling onto his knees, he began to unbutton Hannibal’s shirt, pushing it back off his shoulders to expose his chest. 

“It’s about time you took this off anyway,” Will said. 

Hannibal pulled his arms out of the sleeves. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Will’s voice was soft and low. He took the shirt and threw it onto the fire. 

“The fire’s too low,” Hannibal said, “it won’t burn.” 

“It’ll burn enough,” Will said. 

“The cleaners will find a half-burned shirt in the grate,” Hannibal said. 

“And they’ll find spilled wine and broken glass on the floor,” Will said, knowing they wouldn’t. Hannibal was too fastidious. Will would fall asleep and when he woke the floors would be clean and the shirt would be retrieved from the fire and placed in the trash. Hannibal would never leave the flat in the state it was in now. 

“We haven’t spilled any wine,” Hannibal said.

“Yet,” Will said. He ran his hands through Hannibal’s chest hair and pressed their lips together, opening his mouth to taste the wine Hannibal was drinking mixed with his own blood. 

“The shirt has your blood on it,” Hannibal said when Will pulled back. 

“It’ll burn enough,” Will said. “They won’t know it’s blood, much less that it’s mine.” 

“You’re very sure,” Hannibal said, 

“I used to work for the FBI, you know,” Will said, “I hunted monsters for a living.” 

Hannibal pressed him backward until he was lying prone and pulled his arms up over his head, pinning his hands to the floor. His right hand was still bleeding - he could feel the sting, distantly, almost as though he’d dreamed it. 

“Interesting, then,” Hannibal said, “that the worst monster you ever hunted is the one you invited into your bed.” 

Will laughed, turning his head to avoid a kiss even as he spread his legs to allow Hannibal between then. 

“You give yourself a lot of credit, you know,” Will said. “You’re not the worst monster I ever met.”

“No?” Hannibal said. Will lifted his hips, wriggling to allow his pants and boxers to be pulled down his legs and tossed away. He sat up to undo Hannibal’s buckle and button, and Hannibal shuffled out of his clothes as well. 

“Who’s the worst monster you ever met, Will?” he asked, pulling a bottle of lube out of literally nowhere. 

Will caught his breath as Hannibal pressed in two fingers at once. Normally he started slower. Other times Will stretched Hannibal. But tonight Will needed the grounding presence of Hannibal inside of him, and Hannibal seemed to know that. 

“I don’t know what his name will be tomorrow,” Will said. Hannibal added a third finger and he moaned. It was too fast and it burned, but he wanted it to continue. “But he used to go by Will Graham.” 

Hannibal curled his fingers, brushing Will’s prostate, before withdrawing them completely. Will choked out a moan. His entire body felt like it was vibrating from a pleasant level of drunkenness and arousal.

“Will Graham was never a monster,” Hannibal said, entering Will with a steady pressure, “He was a radiant, magnificent being, capable of many wondrous things. What name he uses tomorrow changes none of that.” 

As Hannibal shifted over him, Will heard the sound of a bottle falling and rolling. 

“I told you,” he began, but Hannibal stopped his words with a kiss. Though they were no longer held, Will hadn’t moved his arms from where Hannibal pinned them. He moved them now, running his hands down Hannibal’s back, leaving a trail of blood behind. 

Hannibal shifted back, lifting Will’s hips to hold him up and setting a punishing pace. Will never lasted long like this, but lasting wasn’t the goal. This was about the end. He gripped himself firmly as the pulsing of his blood reached a fever pitch, coming with a groan across the shirt he had, for some unknown reason, never removed. He supposed it could join Hannibal’s in the fire.

He felt more than heard Hannibal, the vibration of his orgasm traveling through Will’s body. 

They lay together on the floor and Will felt himself drifting into sleep. 

“Let’s shower and go to bed, Will,” Hannibal said. 

“You mean you’re going to put me to bed and then clean up this mess,” Will said sleepily. Hannibal chuckled, and Will opened his eyes wide. “Leave it. We only have a few hours. Stay in bed with me.” 

Hannibal ran a hand through Will’s hair. “Whatever you wish,” he said. 

As they settled in bed and Hannibal pulled him close, Will allowed himself to drift away. He knew Hannibal would be up and cleaning as soon as he was fully asleep, no matter what he’d said about leaving the mess. He also knew a hangover and a train ride loomed in his future. And after that: another rebirth, another new city. 

They were going with the intent to stay, indefinitely, this time and he allowed himself to hope, however unlikely, that this would be the last reinvention. The last time he experienced that rawness. Whether or not it was, Hannibal would be there to guide him through it. 

At least he already spoke Italian.


End file.
